


And Here My Heart Lies

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e06 The Bear and the Bow, F/M, Reunion Sex, Slight Canon Divergence, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5249969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their encounter with Merida (the bear) and Emma, Rumple and Belle have a little talk about their relationship and reconnect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Here My Heart Lies

**Author's Note:**

> I started this before the episode actually aired, so several liberties were taken, mostly with Rumple's injuries (we needed a ripped shirt okay) and the fact that they do not go back to the shop to have their little chat with Hook as we saw in the last episode. I wrote this in the present tense because it felt better for some of the things I wanted them to say and do. IDK, I just had to get this out. It might suck. (I'm pretty sure it sucks.)

They stumble through the door of the pink Victorian, only slightly worse for wear.

Together, they manage to make it up the stairs and down the hallway, ending in their - hers - well, he doesn’t know anymore. It’s the master bathroom, anyway, and he’s there, sitting on the lid of the toilet while Belle pulls all manner of first aid supplies from the cabinet. A fat roll of gauze tips over and unwinds a bit on the counter as she sets down a pile of square bandages and medical tape.

His suit jacket is tattered and hanging on one of the coat hooks by the front door, half of his tie on the foyer floor, the rest of it - well, somewhere in the woods he assumes. The mud may never come out of his trousers, and his shirt has three parallel slashes across the front. But they are very much alive and together. Sort of. It’s more than he’d hoped for anyway when he was limping through the mines to the library, hoping against hope that he could make it from there to his shop.

When he saw Belle in the library, her face lit up at the sight of him, just for that brief moment, he thought - _maybe_. 

She still cares for him, gods know why, and he’s grateful just for her friendship, even if he foolishly wants more. He groans as Belle kneels in front of him and tugs off his shoe, the slight movement sending a jolt of pain through his battered leg and up to the bruising that’s forming on his side.

“Sorry,” she says, her eyes wide and her mouth a tight line. She turns a bit to set the shoe aside, dried mud and little pebbles knocking loose from the sole and bouncing over the tile. 

He winces as she removes the other shoe, realizing for the first time just how battered his body is. There is no magic in him to counter it anymore. He knows he’ll get used to it again, but it’s always strange for a while, that feeling of utter mortality.

“I’m fine, Belle,” he says softly. “Please, don’t trouble yourself.”

She looks up and her cool hands push his hair back from his face, brushing lightly over the small abrasion on his forehead.

She huffs when she sees it and gives him a look. “You were just mauled by a bear, Rumple.”

“I was not _mauled_ ,” he insists, returning her look.

Belle's eyebrow arches and her eyes very pointedly drop to the remains of his shirt. The corners of her lips threatening to curve into a little smirk, and he sighs. “Maybe a little,” he admits. Then a beat later, as she’s dabbing antiseptic onto a puffy cotton ball, he adds, “Pulled out Excalibur.”

They both smile at that, and she laughs a little, shaking her head. “You did that?” she teases.

“I did,” he says, trying and failing to hold back a smirk. “Almost no trouble at all.”

She likes that even after everything there are moments like this, where he’s still the man she fell in love with, sass and self-loathing and all. It leaves her hopeful, but unsure. She doesn’t want to go back to the way things were. She _can’t_ go back to that, but maybe there’s a way forward, to something new and better. He’s here though, in their house again, and that feels too familiar, too good.

She isn’t sure she can let herself have this just yet.

“Let's get you cleaned up,” she mutters, finally pressing the cotton to his skin.

He hisses at the sting, but otherwise remains quiet, letting her work while his hands shift restlessly in his lap. He aches to touch her again, to hold her close and breathe her in until the essence of her fills his lungs to bursting. It feels like it’s been longer than it really has. Too much has happened in only a few months, months that now feel like lifetimes on his heart.

Rumplestiltskin tries to stretch his leg out in the small space, trying to hold back his grimace. The combination of his old injury and fresh bruising is potent, and he thinks he’ll have a new level of appreciation for this world’s pain killing medicines.

“I should get back to the shop,” he says finally. Belle glances to the side, catching his eyes, her lips twisting with what he thinks is worry. “If that’s alright with you? I don’t want to intrude -”

She continues her examination of the cut just under his hairline, running a warm washcloth over it to clean off the dirt. “No - I mean, it’s not an intrusion. It’s _your_ shop.”

He takes a deep breath, his chest puffing out briefly. Right in front of her is a healthy glimpse of his smooth skin, darker than hers and always so warm. She bites her lip before she says, “You, um, you could stay here?”

He swallows, eyes darting to her face before he looks away. “Belle, you don’t -”

She leans back a bit, still up on her knees, bringing her face closer to his. “Rumple, please. I don’t like the idea of you alone in the shop. What if Emma comes after you again?”

He shakes his head. “I very much doubt Emma’s going to come looking for me just yet. She’s got a new _toy_ to play with, after all.”

He means Excalibur and Belle shivers a bit at the thought of the dagger and the sword being reunited. Nothing good can come of it, she’s sure. Or she knows, maybe? Her brain is fuzzy with lost memories again, like something in her peripheral vision she can’t quit catch, and when she turns to look it’s gone. It’s frustrating more than anything.

Belle sighs. “I’d still feel better, if - if you were here.”

It’s too much truth, but she’s unable to stop the words.

Rumplestiltskin nods and gives her a small smile, though he’s uncertain she will feel the same in the morning. The things he’s done are not forgivable, not even by someone as good and selfless as Belle. If anyone deserves better than him, it’s her. She deserves the world, the moon, every star in the sky. 

It doesn’t matter if he manages to be a hero, if they save Emma, if the darkness is truly defeated. For that brief moment in the woods, she felt so good in his arms, so right. He’d felt her squeezing him tight, like maybe she really didn’t want to let go, and he’d chanced a kiss. It was quick and maybe she hadn’t noticed, just a quick press to the side of her neck, half covered by her hair. It would have to be enough.

She said it wasn’t too late. She said a lot of things this evening. But their lives were in danger and it doesn’t have to mean anything now.

“Now let’s see about the rest of you,” she says as she sits back on her heels.

She holds one of his hands in hers and dabs at the scrapes and nicks on his knuckles and up his wrist, unbuttoning his cuff so she has better access. They are barely noticeable and don’t hurt in the least, but she tends them gently anyway. He’s had enough pain in his life and she refuses to cause him anymore if she can help it, even if she has probably been the cause of some of the worst. Swallowing thickly, she reaches for the washcloth again, rewarming it with fresh water, and wipes off his hands. Perhaps she lingers longer than necessary, letting her fingers press into the muscles on the back of his hand until he lets out a soft little sound.

They are the same hands she remembers. She’s watched them work a spinning wheel for hours at a time, turn the pages of her books as he read aloud to her, hold and touch her in ways she never dreamed until she couldn’t bear it anymore. They are the same hands, but somehow they feel like they are attached to a different man, and something wells up in her.

Belle sighs again. “I’m sorry.”

He frowns and turns his palm up, secretly elated when she presses hers against it, warm and small, but so very strong. “What? What for?”

She looks up at him from the floor, goose bumps rising on her upper arms from a sudden chill. She squeezes his hand and shivers. “I should have - before, I mean. I should have made you _talk_ to me. It shouldn’t have -” 

She remembers his face and his eyes pleading with her. She remembers the anger and the fear too, like she’d never felt before. It felt so consuming, blinding maybe. She’s wondered since if it was the dagger, if the power she commanded in that moment had given her a taste of something more.

“I shouldn’t have sent you away,” she manages, finally, looking up at him with damp eyes. The relief in just saying the words makes her heart lighter somehow. “I’m so sorry, Rumple.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. How can she possibly blame herself?

“Belle.” He reaches for her as his vision blurs with tears, pulling at her arms until she’s as close as she can get in their awkward positions. She tips her head up and he rests his forehead against hers, a few of their tears mingling on their way to the floor.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “It was _me_. I made you do it.”

She pulls back to shake her head and wipe her hands over her eyes. She can feel her makeup smearing, sticking at the corners of her eyes. He’s still holding her arms, firmly but gently too. “No. I _knew_ something was wrong and I just - I let it happen!”

He frowns, but not really at her, just at the ridiculous notion that she’s at fault in anyway. “No, sweetheart, you didn’t. _I did_. I’ve never been the man you deserved.” He’s all but sobbing now, sniffling in his patheticness. “I’ve lied to you, Belle. I’ve hurt you. I - I’ve done things that can’t be forgiven.”

All she can do shake is her head again, and lean in to touch her forehead to his once more, her hand slipping into his hair as his palm rounds over her shoulder. He doesn’t see it, and he probably never will. That may be one of the things she loves about him. It hits her then, in this absurd moment in the bathroom, her kneeling on the cold tile and him sitting on the toilet in a torn shirt and muddy trousers. 

She _loves_ him. 

Still. Always, probably, because that’s what true love is supposed to be, right? 

It’s so much easier in her books, but now there’s only the tiniest of spaces between their lips. All he has to do is lean down and turn his head. But he won’t. He’s too afraid, despite the ragged breath that whispers over her mouth and the want and need that she can feel in the way he holds her. There’s a rushing in her ears. Her heart thrums in her throat, making her suck in a sharp breath. His lips move, almost imperceptibly, and she thinks he said her name.

That’s it then.

Belle lifts her head up, just a little, her nose rubbing against his. She can hear him gasp just before her lips touch his, pressing softly but surely. It’s a moment before he seems to register what’s happened, but then he presses back, gently.

A second or two passes before she pulls back a little and exhales, and his mind is reeling. She kissed him. And her hand is still wrapped around the back of his neck, her fingers idly playing with his hair. He can still feel her on his lips.

“Belle,” he manages, before he leans in and dares to kiss her again.

There’s a pressure on his neck as her hand pulls him forward, causing both of his hands to come up and hold her, fingers wrapping around the sides of her neck while his thumbs brush her jaw, her cheeks. Her head tilts slightly, her mouth opening just enough to take his lip in hers, to pull and touch her tongue to it.

They are slow and hesitant in a way they haven’t been for ages, lips gently touching and plucking, until she breaks away and stands up. Her knees ache from being on the floor too long, and she winces as she straightens. She tugs on his hand until he pushes to his feet and limps forward one step.

Pulling again, he falls against her, pushing her into the wall beside the door with his arms braced on either side of her, his body tilted to the side to keep his weight on his good leg. He knows this won’t change anything. It might even make it worse.

“Sweetheart,” he says, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Belle’s eyes follow the movement, and he swallows. “We shouldn’t.”

She shushes him by kissing him again, and this time they are both more active participants. He sucks on her bottom lip, nips it lightly, and then slips his tongue in to taste her. He moans, low and rumbling, reveling in the feel of her again as she arches off the wall and into him. She returns his kiss, stroking her tongue against his, pulling at his lips with hers. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, her fingers sliding through his hair, tugging on the silver streaked strands until he groans into her mouth.

Everything about this day has been confusing, her anger and fear tamping down her feelings for him, even though she was so grateful to see him stumble out of that elevator alive. But now her body is reacting, and she remembers how much she loves him and wants him, how much she always has. This may be a mistake in the morning, but she can feel how much he wants her too.

Rumplestiltskin finally breaks away from her, taking a half step back to put some space between them. “This won’t fix anything,” he says, staring at her, wide eyed and panting.

His voice is anguished, his eyes bright with fresh tears, and it nearly kills her. This is the man that was fighting the curse all those years; the good man she always knew was in there.

“I know,” Belle says finally.

He shifts forward, his hand coming up to brush her cheek. She turns her face into the touch until he cups her face. “I don’t know if I can ever deserve you,” he whispers. His thumb skims her bottom lip. “My Belle.”

She kisses him, hard, and then pulls back, leaving him dazed once more. “I don’t know if we should do this, and I know -” She pauses and takes a breath, then looks at him, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

She shakes her head, smiling. “I don’t care.”

They make it back into the bedroom, Rumplestiltskin stumbling without his cane as she guides him towards the bed. Her fingers pluck at the remaining buttons on his tattered shirt, divesting him of it in short order. Her blouse goes next, landing on the floor halfway to the bed.

She lets her eyes wander down his body before her hands come to rest at his belt, tugging it loose with practiced ease. He marvels at her, fumbles for the zipper on her skirt, and wonders how he has managed to be so lucky. At the end of the bed, he pulls her back for another kiss, hugging her close and wrapping his arms around her, splaying one hand against the small of her back. Her arms go around him again and they stay like that for a moment, just holding and tasting each other, bodies pressed together.

He finds that there is clarity to being without the curse, a freedom in his actions that he’d forgotten. Everything he does now is because he chooses to, not because of any dark voice or shadowy figure goading him. For the first time in centuries there is nothing to darken or twist his emotions. He loves Belle. Utterly, purely, unreservedly.

It’s strange that after all this time that simple fact should be a revelation.

They part and Belle reaches behind her to undo her bra, letting it drop to the floor between them, as he steps out of his trousers and tugs off his socks with a slight wobble. She licks her lips and smiles again at the way Rumplestiltskin’s eyes go wide and dark. It feels like forever since she’s seen him look at her that way. It was a heady feeling to know the power she had over the Dark One in these moments, and it always unsettled her a bit. Now, she feels none of that, nothing but the desire of her husband.

Husband.

 _Oh_.

Her ring is still in a box on the dresser and there are still a million transgressions between them, but his hands, warm and teasing on her bare skin, easing her back onto the bed, make all of that fade away. Stretched out on the duvet, Rumplestiltskin kisses his way up her neck and nips at her earlobe. She whimpers and he can’t help but smile. He has forgotten nothing about this, about her and everything that she likes.

He kisses his way down, over her cheek and jaw and neck, licking at the hollow of her throat before moving lower. His hands roam over her body, caressing her sides as his head dips to take her nipple in his mouth. She keens and tries to arch off the bed, pressing herself closer to him, seeking more touch, more sensation. Light little noises and gasps fall from her lips as he worries the tender bud with his teeth, as his free hand comes up to tease her other breast with strong, gentle fingers. One hand slips into his hair, the other tightens over the blanket, twisting it as the tension between her legs increases.

He seems intent on taking his time, and while she doesn’t mind, she doesn’t want to have too long to think about it. This doesn’t feel like the time for thinking. It’s for feeling and wanting, reconnecting and maybe a little letting go.

His cock throbs as he slides one finger inside her, pressing slowly and curling it slightly until he finds the right spot. He knows he’s there when her hips lift off the bed and she lets out that squeaky little gasp. His hips press into the mattress and against her hip as he bites his lip and moans softly. There’s too much to feel now, nothing dulled or shadowed by the voices and the urges in his head that used to come unbidden at the worst possible times. There’s nothing but the feeling of Belle, slick and hot around his fingers, soft and pliant under his mouth.

Belle tightens around the single digit, pleasure rippling through her, and she tips her head back into the pillow, letting out a long low moan. He smiles against her neck, lifting his head to nip lightly at her earlobe, and adds a second finger, pushing just a little bit deeper, loving the way she starts to move beneath him. He pulls his fingers back a little, and she makes a frustrated little noise and wriggles her hips. He touches her with slow, teasing movements, stroking in and out of her, tracing over the edges of her folds and brushing her clit lightly. It isn’t long before she’s panting and gasping, writhing beneath him, and he’s surprised again at the knowledge that he can do this to her, that after all the time and troubles between them, this hasn’t changed.

“Rumple,” she moans. “Please.”

He lifts himself up, holds himself over her so he can look in her eyes, bright and swirling with a hundred different shades of blue. Grinning, he starts to move down her body, holding her gaze as he starts to settle between her legs. His hands spread over her thighs and he feels her tense. 

She can feel his hands on her, one still a little sticky and wet, thumbs rubbing over the muscles in her legs, inching higher and higher, spreading her open. She breathes slow and steady, telling herself to relax, letting herself sink into the sensations of his fingers again as he touches her. But it’s not what she wants or what they both need.

“No,” she manages, gasping and trying to pull at him with her hand on his shoulder.

For a moment Rumplestiltskin thinks she’s changed her mind, and he starts to move away, but she grabs at his arm, her nails scraping and leaving red marks down his forearm.

He stops and she licks her lips, looking in his eyes. “I need you,” she pleads.

He bends down again, anxious to please her as he fights to keep his hips from thrusting against the bed. “I won’t last, sweetheart,” he says, and opens his mouth over her.

The heat of his breath on her mound has her biting her lip and wanting to scream. But she sucks in a breath and fists her hand in his hair, pulling his head up so he’s looking at her. Her body feels like it’s on fire, aching and burning just to be close to him. “I won’t either.”

Her voice manages to be firm and low, and he’s helpless to deny either of them any longer. He shucks his boxers quickly, and moves up her body. She spreads her legs wider pressing her heels into the mattress until his hips settle atop hers. His cock is pressed just between her legs, and she bucks beneath him, sliding against him. She’s almost surprised at how wet she is, the heat and throb within her core that’s screaming to be filled.

He groans her name when she shifts again, spreading her arousal along his shaft. He can feel the wet, slippery warmth of her, making his heart beat faster with anticipation. They’ve been apart too long, months that feel like years. Too long to be without this feeling, this completion.

Belle pulls him down for a kiss that’s wet and has too much teeth, tugging at each other's’ mouths until their lips are raw and red. She breaks it on a sharp gasp, her head pressing back into the pillow as he finally slides inside her.

She hisses out a yes, bucks her hips emphatically, and he pulls back for a moment, his arms shaking as he tries to hold himself up. She pulls him down again, wanting his weight against her, needing to feel all of him at once. This way she knows he’s really here, that _they_ are really here. There’s no more curse, no more room for lies and doubt.

He doesn’t bother trying to be slow, knowing she’s as desperate for this as he is. He feels her breath, hot and heavy on his face, and he bends to kiss her, keeping the movement of his hips steady. A sharp stab shoots through his knee and his right arm is cramping, but they are nothing compared to the aching in his chest. Her eyes slip shut when he kisses her, but he keeps his open, taking her in, wanting to memorize every moment of this in case it never happens again.

She moans and pulls her right leg higher, hooking it around his waist, and _gods_ if that doesn't let him slide a little deeper, fuck her just a little harder. His strokes fill her perfectly, hitting all the spots that have been craving his touch.

“Missed you,” she gasps, digging her nails into his shoulders.

He buries his face in her neck. “Love you,” he returns.

She can feel her body tightening at his words, her release nearing as tears prick at her eyes. She claws at his shoulders, and he glues his mouth to her neck, sucking at the skin possessively, wanting to leave a mark behind as evidence that this happened. He moves faster and faster until his shoulders tense, his arms shaking with the strain of keeping himself up. Pressing down against her, he thrusts hard hoping to encourage her along, until her orgasm hits her all at once. She cries out loudly just before he does too, his movements slowing, pressing as far into her as he can to chase the sensation of her clenching muscles as he spills himself.

She kisses his neck, his cheek, licks at the sweat trailing down his throat and holds him close as the waves of pleasure subside. He groans softly into the side of her neck, smiling as her arms come up around him, her fingers playing with his damp hair.

Eventually, he rolls off of her and to the side, and she follows, curling against him. He holds her lightly, his hand resting on her upper arm.

“You deserve better,” he says, quietly.

She swallows and sort of shakes her head, rolling it back and forth against his chest. She can feel his heart beating beneath her palm and she remembers the glowing white just before the Apprentice pressed it back into place. He _is_ different now. They both are.

“We both do,” she replies.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning he wakes up alone, and frowns.

A moment later he hears the clatter of something downstairs and smiles, thankful for some proof that it wasn’t all a dream. He groans as he rolls over and sits up, the soreness having settled in overnight. Wincing, he gets out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom.

A hot shower and some Motrin have him feeling significantly better as he makes his way down the stairs. He hears Belle’s soft humming coming from the kitchen, and when he steps around the corner his breath catches. She looks perfect, standing there in her robe and fluffy slippers, her damp hair twisted up at the back of her head and held loosely with a clip. A few curling strands tumble down her neck, and his eyes follow the gentle sway of her hips as she hums the same nameless tune she used to when she pretended to be dusting his castle.

He shuts his eyes and presses his lips together, leaning against the molding around the doorway. If he just stands here, maybe nothing has to change; maybe she won’t have the chance to say it was a mistake and send him away again. Even though that’s exactly what he deserves.

At least when she does, he will have had this, one last night in which he was a hero and loved, if only for a moment.

“Good morning,” she says, smiling slightly.

It’s easier to say she doesn’t know how she feels than to admit what she does. Somehow, in the daylight, waking up in his arms, none of it seemed as wrong as it should. So much so that she thinks maybe this is the way forward for them, together and not apart. They were always better that way.

“Morning,” he replies hesitantly, and limps into the kitchen, leaning more heavily on his cane than usual.

She frowns and turns away from the pan of eggs. “Are you alright?”

He shrugs, and then winces. Even that small motion hurts more than it should. “I’m fine.”

“Rumple,” she warns, raising an eyebrow at him.

His mouth curves into a half smile as he moves closer. “Apparently, I was, in fact, mauled by a bear.”

She grins and shakes her head, turning back to breakfast. “I’m making eggs, since there isn’t much else here,” she says. “I was just moving back in when -” she pauses and shrugs, glancing at him over her shoulder.

He’s surprised that she would be coming back to the Victorian and not continuing to stay in the apartment over the library where he knows she’s been for the past few months. “You were moving back here?”

Belle nods and holds out her hand, her fingers wiggling a little to beckon him closer. He takes her hand and she pulls him in, gently, pressing his palm over her belly and letting him wrap around to hold her from behind.

He drops his head and touches his lips to the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. She sighs again. “I was going to bring you here,” she explains. “I wanted you to wake up somewhere familiar.”

Rumplestiltskin sighs and smiles, and kisses her again. “Thank you.”

She squeezes his hand and he pulls her back against him, spreading his fingers so hers can slip in between.

“I love you,” she whispers. Her voice catches and she stares down at the eggs, shifting them around the pan with the spatula to keep the tears at bay.

She squeezes his fingers with hers and that’s when he feels it. Something smooth and cool, biting into his skin just a bit. He pulls his hand back until he can touch it with his fingertips.

Her ring.

He shuts his eyes and breathes her in, pressing his nose into her hair. “I love you too.”

Nothing is fixed, not really. But, then again, nothing is worse either. And maybe, somehow, it’s better. Maybe, he thinks, it really isn’t too late.


End file.
